Turning creaks my bed.
            Nothing wakes me anymore.
            Where did summer go?

            Computer death clicks.
            That guy owes me a dollar.
            Dirty laundry chair.

        I hate the sun, hate how it follows me
        throughout the day. From dawn's first steely light
        till it sets behind the hills, I'm not free
        while I hide in my room, shunning its spite
        and one-eyed glaze. When I am called to land